


Public Displays

by pluto



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluto/pseuds/pluto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hand-holding, Hawke style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Displays

**Author's Note:**

> for kinkmeme, prompt: _I just want some sticky sweet fluff in which M!Hawke and Anders hold hands in public at some point. : >_

It was a bright, sunny day, unexpectedly beautiful in the middle of winter, the air crisp and cool. Hawke had convinced Anders to come outside for a walk, unwilling to let such weather go to waste. Dog was with them, running ahead and then back, weaving through the bustling crowds come out to enjoy the weather.

"This is so strange," Anders murmured, breaking the pleasant silence between them. He looked around himself, feeling as if he'd never seen the Hightown market before.

Hawke laughed. "What? Sunshine? It's good for you. You are rather pale, you know."

"No," Anders said, smiling despite himself. "I... To be walking. Out here. In public, beside you. I never expected this, not in my wildest dreams."

"Oh, come now." Hawke grinned. "I've heard some of what goes on in that head of yours. What was it you told me the other day? Something involving bending over the Chantry rail and Sebastian, was it...?"

Anders scowled at him. "I didn't say Seb--!" He stopped, realizing that Hawke was baiting him. "I just mean... this." He gestured around them at the people walking by. Not a few were casting them looks out of the corners of their eyes, too polite to remark until they were out of hearing. "Everybody sees us, everybody knows what I am, and you don't care. Every time our shoulders touch I... It's like I'm in the Circle again, playing games, waiting to find out just how close we can get before the Templars storm in and rip us apart."

"Stop, you're making me all tingly and breathless." Hawke laughed, and then frowned. "Maker, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I am."

"Of course you are. You're always so bloody serious." Hawke stopped Anders with a hand to the forearm, drawing him aside before the gawking pair of old biddies behind them could collide with him. Taking refuge from the passersby near a wall, he pulled Anders close, so that barely a handspan was between them. Close enough to kiss, Anders thought.

"The Templars won't come. They wouldn't dare," Hawke said, his grin turning sharkish. "I'm the Champion of Kirkwall, aren't I?"

His fingers were strong and warm and firm on Anders' forearm. They moved down, stroking. Anders shifted, uneasy, gaze slanting to the nearby people attempting to look like they were not looking.

"Even being the Champion can only protect you so much, Hawke..."

Hawke's grin grew even sharper. "I don't care."

Anders' breath quickened when roughened fingertips slid over the pulse in his wrist, down over his palm.

"They will never rip us apart," Hawke said. "I swear to you."

Anders' eyes widened as Hawke's fingers intertwined with his own. They had never done this in public before. Holding hands. It was such an innocent gesture, and such a _seditious_ one... That half-fearful, half-delighted jolt went through him again. Hawke squeezed his fingers, tightly.

"I swear to you," Hawke repeated. He raised their joined hands, kissing Anders' knuckles. His gaze held to Anders' own.

Voice trapped somewhere under his pounding heart, Anders nodded his thanks. He gripped Hawke’s hand tightly, afraid this was some kind of dream. It felt real enough. "And I swear to you. I will never let them take you from me. "

"Good," Hawke said, cheerily. "Now that that's settled, why don't we..." He looked around himself. "Andraste's tits. Where's that Dog got off to now? Come on--"

He hauled them back into the crowd, whistling for Dog, haring off in his Hawke way; but he did not let go of Anders' hand.


End file.
